The Mousetrap and Other Plays (56 page)

MRS
.
BOYLE
. I beg your pardon?

MOLLIE
. Christopher Wren is an architect . . .

MRS
.
BOYLE
. My dear young woman. I have naturally heard of Sir Christopher Wren. (
She crosses to the fire.
) Of course, he was an architect. He built St. Paul's. You young people seem to think that no one is educated but yourselves.

MOLLIE
. I meant
this
Wren. His name is Christopher. His parents called him that because they hoped he'd be an architect. (
She crosses to the sofa table and takes a cigarette from the box.
) And he is—or nearly one—so it turned out all right.

MRS
.
BOYLE
. Humph. Sounds a fishy story to me. (
She sits in the large armchair.
) I should make some enquiries about him if I were you. What do you know of him?

MOLLIE
. Just as much as I know about you, Mrs. Boyle—which is that you are both paying us seven guineas a week. (
She lights her cigarette.
) That is really all I need to know, isn't it? And all that concerns me. It doesn't matter to me whether I like my guests, or whether (
Meaningly
) I don't.

MRS
.
BOYLE
. You are young and inexperienced and should welcome advice from someone more knowledgeable than yourself. And what about this foreigner?

MOLLIE
. What about him?

MRS
.
BOYLE
. You weren't expecting him, were you?

MOLLIE
. To turn away a
bona fide
traveller is against the law, Mrs. Boyle.
You
should know that.

MRS
.
BOYLE
. Why do you say that?

MOLLIE
. (
Moving down Centre
) Weren't you a magistrate, sitting on the Bench, Mrs. Boyle?

MRS
.
BOYLE
. All I say is that this Paravicini, or whatever he calls himself, seems to me . . .

(
PARAVICINI
enters softly from the stairs Left.
)

PARAVICINI
. Beware, dear lady. You talk of the devil and there he is. Ha, ha.

(
MRS
.
BOYLE
jumps.
)

MRS
.
BOYLE
. I didn't hear you come in.

(
MOLLIE
moves behind the sofa table.
)

PARAVICINI
. I came in on tiptoe—like this. (
He demonstrates, moving down Centre.
) Nobody ever hears me if I do not want them to. I find that very amusing.

MRS
.
BOYLE
. Indeed?

PARAVICINI
. (
Sitting in the armchair Centre
) Now there was a young lady . . .

MRS
.
BOYLE
. (
Rising
) Well, I must get on with my letters. I'll see if it's a little warmer in the drawing room.

(
MRS
.
BOYLE
exits to the drawing room down Left.
MOLLIE
follows her to the door.
)

PARAVICINI
. My charming hostess looks upset. What is it, dear lady? (
He leers at her.
)

MOLLIE
. Everything's rather difficult this morning. Because of the snow.

PARAVICINI
. Yes. Snow makes things difficult, does it not? (
He rises.
) Or else it makes them easy. (
He moves up to the refectory table and sits.
) Yes—very easy.

MOLLIE
. I don't know what you mean.

PARAVICINI
. No, there is quite a lot you do not know. I think, for one thing, that you do not know very much about running a guest house.

MOLLIE
. (
Moving to Left of the sofa table and stubbing out her cigarette
) I daresay we don't. But we mean to make a go of it.

PARAVICINI
. Bravo—bravo! (
He claps his hands and rises.
)

MOLLIE
. I'm not such a very bad cook . . .

PARAVICINI
. (
Leering
) You are without doubt an enchanting cook. (
He moves behind the sofa table and takes
MOLLIE
's hand.
)

(
MOLLIE
draws it away and moves below the sofa down Centre.
)

May I give you a little word of warning, Mrs. Ralston? (
Moving below the sofa
) You and your husband must not be too trusting, you know. Have you references with these guests of yours?

MOLLIE
. Is that usual? (
She turns to
PARAVICINI
) I always thought people just—just
came
?

PARAVICINI
. It is advisable to know a little about the people who sleep under your roof. Take, for example, myself. I turn up saying that my car is overturned in a snowdrift. What do you know of me? Nothing at all! I may be a thief, a robber, (
He moves slowly towards
MOLLIE
) a fugitive from justice—a madman—even—a murderer.

MOLLIE
. (
Backing away
) Oh!

PARAVICINI
. You see! And perhaps you know just as little of your other guests.

MOLLIE
. Well, as far as Mrs. Boyle goes . . .

(
MRS
.
BOYLE
enters from the drawing room.
MOLLIE
moves up Centre to the refectory table.
)

MRS
.
BOYLE
. The drawing room is far too cold to sit in. I shall write my letters in here. (
She crosses to the large armchair.
)

PARAVICINI
. Allow me to poke the fire for you. (
He moves Right and does so.
)

(
MAJOR METCALF
enters up Right through the archway.
)

MAJOR METCALF
. (
To
MOLLIE
;
with old-fashioned modesty
) Mrs. Ralston, is your husband about? I'm afraid the pipes of the—er—the downstairs cloakroom are frozen.

MOLLIE
. Oh dear. What an awful day. First the police and then the pipes. (
She moves to the arch up Right.
)

(
PARAVICINI
drops the poker with a clatter.
MAJOR METCALF
stands as though paralysed.
)

MRS
.
BOYLE
. (
Startled
) Police?

MAJOR METCALF
. (
Loudly; as if incredulous
) Police, did you say? (
He moves to the Left end of the refectory table.
)

MOLLIE
. They rang up. Just now. To say they're sending a sergeant out here. (
She looks at the snow.
) But I don't think he'll ever get here.

(
GILES
enters from the archway up Right with a basket of logs.
)

GILES
. The ruddy coke's more than half stones. And the price . . . Hullo, is anything the matter?

MAJOR METCALF
. I hear the police are on their way here. Why?

GILES
. Oh, that's all right. No one can get through in this. Why, the drifts must be five feet deep. The roads are all banked up. Nobody will get here today. (
He takes the logs to the fireplace.
) Excuse me, Mr. Paravicini. May I put these down.

(
PARAVICINI
moves down stage of the fireplace. There are three sharp taps on the window as
SERGEANT TROTTER
presses his face to the pane and peers in.
MOLLIE
gives a cry and points.
GILES
crosses and throws open the window.
SERGEANT TROTTER
is on skis and is a cheerful, commonplace young man with a slight cockney accent.
)

TROTTER
. Are you Mr. Ralston?

GILES
. Yes.

TROTTER
. Thank you, sir. Detective Sergeant Trotter. Berkshire Police. Can I get these skis off and stow them somewhere?

GILES
. (
Pointing Right
) Go round that way to the front door. I'll meet you.

TROTTER
. Thank you, sir.

(
GILES
leaves the window open and exits to the front door up Right.
)

MRS
.
BOYLE
. I suppose that's what we pay our police force for, nowadays, to go round enjoying themselves at winter sports.

(
MOLLIE
crosses below the refectory table to the window.
)

PARAVICINI
. (
Moving up to Centre of the refectory table, in a fierce whisper to
MOLLIE
) Why did you send for the police, Mrs. Ralston?

MOLLIE
. But I didn't. (
She shuts the window.
)

(
CHRISTOPHER
enters from the drawing room Left and comes to Left of the sofa.
PARAVICINI
moves to the Right end of the refectory table.
)

CHRISTOPHER
. Who's that man? Where did he come from? He passed the drawing room window on skis. All over snow and looking terribly hearty.

MRS
.
BOYLE
. You may believe it or not, but the man is a policeman. A policeman—skiing!

(
GILES
and
TROTTER
enter from the front door.
TROTTER
has removed his skis and is carrying them.
)

GILES
. (
Moving Right of the arch up Right
) Er—this is Detective Sergeant Trotter.

TROTTER
. (
Moving to Left of the large armchair
) Good afternoon.

MRS
.
BOYLE
. You can't be a sergeant. You're too young.

TROTTER
. I'm not quite as young as I look, madam.

CHRISTOPHER
. But terribly hearty.

GILES
. We'll stow your skis away under the stairs.

(
GILES
and
TROTTER
exit through the archway up Right.
)

MAJOR METCALF
. Excuse me, Mrs. Ralston, but may I use your telephone?

MOLLIE
. Of course, Major Metcalf.

(
MAJOR METCALF
goes to the telephone and dials.
)

CHRISTOPHER
. (
Sitting at the Right end of the sofa
) He's very attractive, don't you think so? I always think that policemen are very attractive.

MRS
.
BOYLE
. No brains. You can see that at a glance.

MAJOR METCALF
. (
Into the telephone
) Hullo! Hullo! . . . (
To
MOLLIE
) Mrs. Ralston, this telephone is dead—quite dead.

MOLLIE
. It was all right about half an hour ago.

MAJOR METCALF
. The line's gone with the weight of the snow, I suppose.

CHRISTOPHER
. (
Laughing hysterically
) So we're quite cut off now. Quite cut off. That's funny, isn't it?

MAJOR METCALF
. (
Moving to Left of sofa
) I don't see anything to laugh at.

MRS
.
BOYLE
. No, indeed.

CHRISTOPHER
. Ah, it's a private joke of my own. Hist, the sleuth is returning.

(
TROTTER
enters from the archway up Right, followed by
GILES
.
TROTTER
moves down Centre while
GILES
crosses to Left of the sofa table.
)

TROTTER
. (
Taking out his notebook
) Now we can get to business, Mr. Ralston. Mrs. Ralston?

(
MOLLIE
moves down Centre.
)

GILES
. Do you want to see us alone? If so, we can go into the library. (
He points towards the library door up Left.
)

TROTTER
. (
Turning his back to the audience
) It's not necessary, sir. It'll save time if everybody's present. If I might sit at this table? (
He moves up to the Right end of the refectory table.
)

PARAVICINI
. I beg your pardon. (
He moves behind the table to the Left end.
)

TROTTER
. Thank you. (
He settles himself in a judicial manner Centre behind the refectory table.
)

MOLLIE
. Oh, do hurry up and tell us. (
She moves up the Right end of the refectory table.
) What have we done?

TROTTER
. (
Surprised
) Done? Oh, it's nothing of
that
kind, Mrs. Ralston. It's something quite different. It's more a matter of police protection, if you understand me.

MOLLIE
. Police protection?

TROTTER
. It relates to the death of Mrs. Lyon—Mrs. Maureen Lyon of twenty-four Culver Street, London, West two, who was murdered yesterday, the fifteenth instant. You may have heard or read about the case?

MOLLIE
. Yes. I heard it on the wireless. The woman who was strangled?

TROTTER
. That's right, madam. (
To
GILES
) The first thing I want to know is if you were acquainted with this Mrs. Lyon.